


Medicate

by jendavis



Series: Being a Girl & Medicate [2]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Abortion, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, Squick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:32:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for hc_bongo prompt "MPREG- Difficult Pregnancy."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medicate

Ronon had been on the run a long time. He wasn't a picky eater. Probably hadn't been much of one before that, either. So when he excused himself halfway through the lunch meeting with Woolsey, leaving his sandwich only half-eaten, John was a little concerned.

It grew worse when Ronon disappeared for the rest of the day, but Caldwell was due in the morning and there was work to be done, so he swallowed it down.

\---

It wasn't late, yet, but it was getting there, and John's eyes were starting to get tired from scanning through Lorne's last three field reports, which needed his signature before Caldwell beamed down. The chime at the door was a welcome distraction, made even more so when Ronon stepped into his room.

"Hey," John said, setting the laptop aside and stretching, trying not to notice Ronon's ashen complexion or the panic welling in his own chest. "Where you been, everything alright?"

"Not exactly." Ronon closed the door behind him, carefully, and leaned back against the wall.

"Then what?"

Ronon was staring through him, maybe not even seeing him, but after a moment, he shook his head.

 _This isn't good._ “Hey,” he stood up and crossed the room, realizing only too late that he was backing Ronon into a corner, never a great idea on the best of days. It was especially unwise when the tension Ronon was radiating could probably be seen from a low orbit.

"I went down to the infirmary," Ronon said, sliding past him, towards the middle of the room. Deliberate evasion, gaining distance. He was mid-stride when he spoke again. "Apparently, I'm pregnant."

" _What_?" John scoffed. _Seriously, whoever's put him up to this is_ -

Catching sight of Ronon's face, the laughter he'd summoned turned to strangle him instead, and he could feel the awkward rictus of his mouth, frozen in a half smile, too busy trying to take it all in to handle basic motor function.

And by the time that he _could_ , Ronon was already out the door.

\---

Ronon wasn't really planning on stopping when he reached the end of the pier, but he heard the footsteps running after him, now, and John's breathing sounded panicked, too.

"You're serious?" John hesitated, just out of reach, like he didn't know if he was allowed any closer.

Ronon didn't know, either, and grimaced at the ocean. Somehow, it looked the same as it ever did. "Yeah."

\---

Ronon had wanted kids, once upon a time, but not like this.

"So, from what I can tell, it seems that once your body reverted to it's usual, ah, _male_ state, some parts of your physiology took longer than others to reset, as it were." Keller wasn't blushing, but she wasn't looking directly at him, either. "And you said that you didn't engage in sexual intercourse when all that was going on." She paused, then, fiddling with the scanner controls. "Which leads me to believe that inception happened afterwards. Am I on the right track?"

Inside, his guts churned, and he couldn't convince himself that for all her stammering, she was the more embarrassed of the two of them. Very carefully, he didn't answer, which was all the confirmation she apparently needed.

"We've got to do something about it sooner, rather than later," Keller was trying to maintain eye contact, and mostly failing. He wished she'd stop trying, already. "Your physiology just isn't built to carry a fetus to term," she said. "I'm sorry."

Like she thought he'd been _planning_ on it, or something.

“It's too small, yet, to go in and extract surgically. Unless you want to wait, which is a risk that I'm not medically comfortable with, the only options we have are chemical at this point.”

“So, what, you're talking drugs?”

“Yes, but right now, there's no indication that they will have the same effect on men as in women.”

“Don't care. I want to try them.”

"We will. Just. I'm going to need to run some of the chemistry by-" Keller read the glare off Ronon's face and shook her head. "It'll be confidential, I promise. But I am going to need a second set of eyes, just to be on the safe side, okay?"

 _Nothing_ about this was okay. Ronon shrugged, keeping his eyes on the door, wondering just how far beyond it John was pacing.

"Look. We'll handle this," she continued, shutting the scanner off. "Don't worry. This actually isn't the strangest thing we've ever seen." When all she got in response was a numb nod, she followed Ronon's eyes. "Hey, ah. Does," she waved her hand towards the door, and even then, he wasn't ready for the question that followed. "Have you told John?"

He hadn't told anyone. Hadn't given it away. She'd figured it out for herself, and grinned in relief when he betrayed John and nodded. She began babbling about how telling him had been the right thing to do, and how it would help.

From where Ronon sat, though, it didn't change a damned thing.

\---

Apparently, Keller had told Ronon to continue with his normal habits while she did her research, which meant his condition wasn't immediately life threatening. If Ronon was a little more taciturn and irritable than usual, well, he had good cause. It only would've been worse if he'd been confined to an infirmary bed, anyway.

Still, though, John thought Ronon would have waited for the two of them to make it down to the training room before he started sparring.

When he stopped by Ronon's quarters, Atlantis opened the door, because Ronon didn't.

 _He probably didn't hear the chime_ , John told himself as he stepped through, freezing in his tracks when he saw it.

Ronon was kneeling in the middle of the room, punching himself in the stomach. Repeatedly. _Hard_ , and he hadn't noticed John yet, but then-

“Don't fucking _look_ at me,” he growled, nearly hysteric, before suddenly launching himself to his feet and stalking into the bathroom to retch. “This is all your fault.”

\---

Ronon spat out the mouthwash and rinsed his face in the sink, leaning heavily on his arms as he waited out the last thin tendrils of nausea. When finally they passed, he stood up, averting his eyes from the mirror as he left the bathroom.

He didn't think John would still be there, and from the looks of it, John was a little surprised, too. And worried, afraid. Definitely wary. But he was still sitting there, and the concern in his eyes wasn't going to go away on its own.

"Hey," Ronon offered, pausing a few feet from him, unsure what to do next. He'd been planning on collapsing on the bed until he felt human again, not sitting through another round of _whatever_ this was turning out to be.

John's mouth quirked up in the corner, not quite a smile "Hey."

It took him a few seconds too long, probably, but Ronon found the words. "Uh. About that. Just now. I'm sorry, didn't mean to…"

"It's cool. I'd be freaking the hell out myself," He snorted, then. "Okay. I _am_. Freaking out. A bit. Too. You know what I mean."

Ronon didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, it's not like he could _fix_ it, and he was too tired to try to think of a better solution.

And it was _his_ room, anyhow. He lay face down on the bed, felt John shifting next to him, making himself comfortable. He wasn't going anywhere.

Ronon was starting to find that he hadn't wanted him to, either. He shifted a bit closer, until he could feel John next to him. Turned his head and spoke into John's shoulder. "There's this _thing_ growing inside of me. It shouldn't be there, and I can't get it out. That's fucked up, right?"

"Yeah." John shrugged. "We'll get through it. Keller's working on it, she'll have something soon. You should go talk to her, though, see if she can give you something for the morning sickness. The nausea and everything. Might help."

Ronon shrugged, and John let it drop.

"You got somewhere you're supposed to be?"

"Nah. Nothing until later." John said, tensing, preparing to move, and his next words came out nervously. "But I can go, if you want."

Ronon shook his head, closing his eyes.. "Might drop off, though. Slept for crap last night."

"Me too," John answered, and after a while, he turned, draping an arm over Ronon's back.

\---

Keller wasn't impressed with the bruises on his torso. She was even less impressed with his admission of how they got there. Then again, she'd probably handled hundreds of sparring-related injuries, seen thousands of bruises, and knew that Ronon wasn't the one who usually tended to be the one sporting them. Thankfully, she let the matter drop, after checking to make sure he hadn't ruptured anything.

He hadn't. It was a little disappointing, though Keller seemed to think it was something that merited relief.

"Okay. Here's the deal. It's a two dose cocktail. One now, and two tomorrow. This is the first portion," she said, tipping a pill into his hand, which he washed down with the water she gave him.

She showed him a plastic envelope. "These two need to be taken together, no sooner than twenty-four hours from now, no later than three days from now. And I've got to be honest with you, they're going to make you feel like hell. You're going to cramp up, horribly, and you may experience more nausea. If you want, you can come down here and take them, or I can bring them to your quarters whenever you're ready for them."

"Okay," Ronon reached out for the pills, but she didn't hand them over. "One day, right?"

Keller nodded, grimacing. "Here's the thing. Regulations, I have to be the one to dose you up. And because this is something we haven't seen before, you need to _promise_ me that you'll call if you think something's wrong, or have any questions. The side effects should abate after a few hours, and I'll be stopping by to check on you, okay?"

Ronon nodded, standing up. _Finally_ , something was happening. He wondered what the chemicals he'd ingested were doing, right then, but didn't want to hear the answer. "I'll call you if there are any problems."

"One last thing," Keller said, smiling, and Ronon knew he wasn't going to like whatever she was about to say. "Normally, when a pregnancy is being terminated, it's helpful if you've got someone there with you when it's happening. Now I _know_ this isn't normal, but. It's _because_ it's not normal that I'm going to _strongly_ suggest that you have John there with you, to keep watch, okay?"

All of Ronon's momentary enthusiasm drained away, but he managed a noncommittal nod, enough that she seemed satisfied, and _finally_ , he could leave.

\---

"Really, I'm fine," Ronon had said, earlier, when John had asked, and it was true, Ronon seemed a bit more like his usual self at dinner. He joked around with Kanaan and Teyla, something about the food on some planet that only sounded vaguely familiar. John, for the most part was distracted, arguing jet engines with Rodney. It wasn't until Teyla stood that he looked up.

She'd finished eating, and was saying she had to go back to check on Torren. "While he reminds me daily that he _is_ the best thing that ever happened to me," she grinned, "he consistently neglects to do so at _bath time_." Kanaan rose too, wishing them all a good evening as he followed her out of the mess.

Ronon didn't eat much, after that, and John wasn't that hungry anymore either.

\---

"Keller's going to tell Woolsey that we've both got the flu, tomorrow morning, and I've already told Lorne I'm not feeling so hot, so we're in the clear, there," John said, once they reached the end of the southeastern pier. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine. I'll be glad when this is over," Ronon smiled, ruefully. "You sure you're cool with tomorrow?"

"Keller called, practically made it an order," John smirked. "But yeah, I mean. I figure it'll be better if I'm freaking out where I can actually keep an eye on you, you know?"

Ronon leaned up against the balustrade, staring out at the water. It was several minutes before he spoke.

"This is fucked up," he began. "I mean, if I was a woman. Still. Whatever. On Sateda? This would be murder."

John nodded, but didn't bring up the debates still swarming the states, back home. They were too close, too far, too _something_ , but they weren't at all useful, right now. It wasn't a path he wanted to go down.

"Look, Ronon. From what I understand, it," he broke off, because _the baby_ wasn't something he could say, and he wasn't about to force Ronon to, either. "It's not going to survive. You're not built for it, and it's too dangerous to even consider. It could kill you. It's not the ideal, but it's what needs to happen." Wishing Ronon looked convinced, he ducked into his field of vision just a little bit more. "You're doing the right thing."

His words didn't have the desired effect. Ronon slid down the wall, crouching, his hands coming up to his face. John didn't hear what he said next, and it wasn't until he knelt down that Ronon brought his head up and repeated himself.

"I said, in cases like that, back home? The father and his family would drag her out to the gate and send her through. Exile her."

 _You ever see that happen?_ John was curious, but a little afraid of the answer. Ronon's hands were fists, now, clenched in on themselves, his knuckles white. When John sidled closer, he could hear his ragged breathing. He was trying to control it, but still wouldn't meet John's eyes.

Glancing back towards the city, he pried Ronon's hand open, threading their fingers together. "That's not going to happen. Fuck, man, this entire thing is about making sure we _don't_ lose you, okay?"

Ronon didn't respond, but he didn't let go, either. Soon, they'd have to go inside.

\---

"You want me to stay over?" John asked as they made their way back towards the city.

Ronon glanced up, out past the main spire, at the lights glinting where no stars should be. "Caldwell and his people are still here," he reminded John.

"Yeah, but." _This once, we can make an exception. It's not like they'll come looking._

Ronon grinned, his first smile in hours, now, and he stopped short before opening the door. "Thanks. But you're being an idiot. I'll see you in the morning."

"Okay. Call me if you need me, though." Ronon rolled his eyes, apparently very much over his earlier freak-out, or just riding the waves until the next one, but he wrapped his arms around John's shoulders, and kissed him a bit longer than usual.

\---

“John, he's ready, you can see him now." Keller's voice was calm, quiet, and sympathetic. It shouldn't have startled him nearly so badly, not with the way he'd been waiting for it all morning.

 _Fuck_ , it was time.

He grabbed his laptop, keeping his pace steady as headed for Ronon's quarters. He nodded at Keller when he passed her in the corridor, carefully bland. Taking a breath when he reached the door, he honestly felt for all the world like turning heel and _running_

Inside, Ronon was sitting at the edge of his bed, toying with an opened plastic envelope.

"How're you doing?"

"Fine," Ronon said, checking the clock on his nightstand. "She said it was going to take a while."

\---

They were half an hour into Mad Max when Ronon began curling in on himself.

By forty minutes in, the computer was sitting on the nightstand and John had his hand halfway to his radio. "You're _sure_ you're okay?"

Ronon grimaced. _Stupid question_. "Don't," was all he said, reaching for the heating pad that Keller had discarded at the foot of the bed. Finally sensing that there was something he could do, John clambered over the bed, searching out a place to plug it in.

After that, though, John could only watch as Ronon writhed in agony on the bed, clenching his teeth, trying to breathe around the pain..

One hour in, Ronon's choked sobs broke into another litany of curses, some of which hit John, some of which were _meant_ to.

John sat on the edge of the bed, torn between punching a hole through the wall and reaching out to fucking _fix_ this, already.

\---

The torment was unending, and Ronon was sure the thing he was killing was killing him back in turn. He wished it would. It tore through him, burning, tying him into knots and wrenching his spine into a curve that did nothing to assuage the pain.

Somewhere, past all of it, John was watching him. Seeing all of this. Probably reporting back to Keller, he couldn't be sure.

Another wave spiked through him, visceral and bloody, and it wouldn't. Fucking. End.

\---

It was nearly three hours before the pain began to subside enough that Ronon could stand, but even then, John had to help him into the bathroom, get the shower set as hot as it would go. Looking at Ronon, though, it could burn the flesh right off him and the tension in every one of his muscles would still be there.

John waited outside the door, which he left open, because part of him was certain that Ronon would collapse, any minute now.

He didn't, but when he stepped out again, he was too wiped to even notice John watching, until he was handed a dry change of clothes.

He was shaky enough that he actually needed to be helped into them.

John eventually broke his silence, picking up the towel from the floor where Ronon had dropped it and draping it over the rack. "You okay?"

"Don't wanna talk," Ronon grumbled, lying down again on the bed, curling on his side. "Put the movie back on."

John did as he was told, sitting down next to him and restarting the computer, propping it on his knees so that Ronon could see. After a few minutes, Ronon moved closer, resting his head on John's thigh, ostensibly to get a better view of the screen.

His hair was damp under John's carding fingers, his shoulders still too tight, but John kept pressing at them, setting some vague sort of rhythm in hopes that they'd eventually give. Ronon's arm came up over his lap, grabbing at John's opposite hip, hugging him a bit closer.

\---

Ronon had finally dozed off, but he began to stir when John tapped his radio on.

"Nah, it's cool, he's sleeping. Think the worst is over….Yeah. I'll tell him to check in when he wakes up….Okay. Sheppard out."

"Keller?"

John's fingers began stroking through his hair again. "She says hi, hopes you're feeling okay and that she'll want to take a look at you tomorrow, make sure it worked." John craned his neck to get a better look at him, assessing, but hopeful. "How're you doing?"

Ronon shrugged, blinking against the light and tried to decide. "Sore. Better." It was warmer, here, pressed against John's chest, and more so when John shifted, lying down and wrapping one arm around his back. The rest of it, he could figure out later. "Put the movie back on, I was watching that."

"No you weren't," John said, but leaned over to drag the laptop back up onto his lap, kissing his forehead before he resettled himself, his arm again falling against Ronon's back. "Love you."

Five minutes later, John was asleep. The movie, whatever it was, made no sense at all, and in a while, it would be nice to get up and stretch out, to ease the last lingering cramps. In a while.


End file.
